


gone

by decidingdolan



Series: grey (if only) [3]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, Introspection, Memories, Musing, Reflection, Regret, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hero. A tragedy. Twice. To those he loved the most. To those he would always regret in his memories about. He had failed them, failed himself. No other word for it. And they called him a hero. Peter Parker reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gone

> _Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy._   
> _\--F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

 

_hero (n.) a person, typically a man, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities; a person of superhuman qualities and often semi-divine origins_

You’d looked up the meaning of the word once, in that dusted hardcover in the public library, a few days after it happened. (your mistake. Your decision. Your fault. That he was gone. That you had but half a family now.)

With great power comes great responsibility, he’d warned you.

Always the wise one, Uncle Ben, always the one you’d looked up to, ever since you were a child. A second father, but second to none in your eyes. A guardian, a protector, a watchful eye.

A hero.

He wasn’t one with superhuman qualities, no spider bites and the resulting so-called (as labeled by the press) amazing web slinging powers and enhanced agility and reflexes. He was a man. Only a man, but with human qualities you wanted to count as superhuman. He was kind, open, compassionate. Curious, quick-witted. Warm. Always ready to listen and ready to help. Watched out for you and warned you once or twice before you’d learned your lesson and not make the same mistakes. Took care of you and Aunt May, this little fragile family, through the years while you grew up and strayed, more and more out of your ways.

And of his.

He’d cared, now that you thought back on the past. Reflected. Gave sometime to yourself to ponder the events leading up to when it happened.

He cared. He was trying to tell you that.

He wasn’t the nicest, sometimes, in your memory, because even heroes did have flaws. You remembered hating him so intensely for periods of hours and wanting to escape, flee. Leave. Go away and never come back to this house. Or even be in the same room with him. You’d argued, and he’d become furious at you for arguing back.

But you loved him, that was the point.

You loved him, so you argued. You wanted to be right, you wanted to know why the person you loved so deeply, the one you held so dear to your heart, could hurt you so much with mere words.

You wanted to fight back.

That was the ironic detail—hating because of love. Loathing because of guilt, because you’d made a mistake and you wanted to, you still wanted to, look good in his eyes. You wouldn’t give up.

Most days, around the days when it happened, you wanted to be left alone.

He couldn’t understand, you reasoned to yourself. Because how would he? Understand you. No way.

Not with what you were going through, he couldn’t.

And now he was gone, and there was no one you could argue against and explain yourself to.

His eyes.

Just before…it happened. Just before…he was gone.

That’d always burn in your mind. Stuck in there, an indelible piece of visual memory. You would never forget.

You weren’t a hero, not in the least. He was, your one hero, he was.

And now he was gone.

(You’re not a hero, not now that she was gone too. Not at the cost of losing her. Saving lives. Making sacrifices, you’d known—you’d always known that it was a part of your job (who were you kidding? You still hadn’t held a real job in your life.), but not at the cost of losing her.

You were weak, you’d understood it, when your heart faltered back on you the minute she declared those four words in front of the dim sum place. You were weak, her father had warned you and you’d barely listened.

You tried. Did you even try? Some feeble, half-hearted attempt.

(Or attempts.)

You’d looked up at her, green eyes, curled blonde locks, that intoxicating, lively smile (that always seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself, in your eyes), plump pink lips. Her husky laugh. Her throaty voice. You loved her. You _loved_ her.

You loved her, and it was impossible to tear yourself away.

You’d looked up at her, and you’d fooled yourself into forgetting, and give in.

You wanted her close, you wanted her near. And you couldn’t tear yourself away.

Until she was torn away from you, by the other person you’d loved most in your life. The other, long-lost best friend, who’d demanded of you the blood of your ‘heroic’ (you scoffed at the word now) side, that version of yourself. Reasoned to you that you’d existed to give him hope. Perhaps, if you were better. If you were stronger, if you were even somewhere close to being…a hero, you might have. But you weren’t.

It all went wrong, in ways you couldn’t have salvaged with any of your superhuman abilities, any of your powers.

And they called you a hero.

And now she was gone.)

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble for Marvel Daily on Twitter. Theme/Topic was: hero.
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by, reading, leaving kudos! Y'all mean the world to me.
> 
> With love and ristretto,
> 
> x


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